


CHRISTMAS CAROL

by Banbury



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Near Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 03:52:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17154794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banbury/pseuds/Banbury
Summary: You may be afraid of something all your life, but there is a time of year when miracles happen, when you are afraid or not.





	CHRISTMAS CAROL

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carenejeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carenejeans/gifts).



He sensed that slight almost-non-existent hum of a young pre-immortal right the moment he walked through the customs to the cavernous hall of San-Francisco airport. Usually only a whiff of it would be enough for him to buy a new ticket to a remote part of the world right away, but today… 

Today he stopped hesitantly, caught between his usual MO and sudden wish to see the object of that young uneven Buzz. There was something about it… something not only strange, but disturbingly familiar and it was almost frightening – all the distinctions in the Immortal Buzz became evident after the first hundred years at least…

He turned around and dove for a free table in the nearest café. It was Starbucks. He hated it. Usually. Today he took the biggest cup of coffee and a plate, piled with sandwiches and pieces of apple pie from a waitress almost gratefully. Anything to delay inevitable.

He could’ve left. He should’ve left. There was somebody who was waiting for him in the city. He was sure of it. Almost sure. They agreed to meet somewhere near the Golden Gate Park about five years ago. They were to meet there exactly five years ago, but he was famous for his long periods of disappearances and indecision and his companion was no less famous for his stubbornness – so he was almost sure he was still waiting…

He sighed and looked at the plate overflowing with food. He didn’t want it now, but due to the long acquaintance with the Gods of Hunger he knew better than to waste goods. He nodded to the waitress to pack it “to go”.

He hefted the backpack on his shoulder and moved further. In the middle of the building, with it’s high ceiling and echoed space, the Buzz sounded clearer and stronger. It was extremely difficult to tell the age and gender from it alone, but he was strangely sure the source of that attractive hum was a boy around ten years old. He didn’t know how he could tell, but nevertheless he was sure of it.

He sighed and looked around – that was one huge monstrosity and he just knew it would take him hours to find the boy and he would be lucky if he did it on time, before fates whisked him away to places unknown.

~~~~  
Methos leaned on the wall and slowly slid down. It really took him eons to search around – almost two hours, but there he was. He was sure the boy was somewhere in the middle of the big crowd of children of various ages that swirled between the McDonalds and bathrooms in one of the corners of the airport building.

There were several nuns and young men, obviously novices, with them. Children were lively, chatty and quick, engaging in friendly fights, but still a bit more subdued than an average kids of their age.

Methos edged closer. 

Now it was the tricky part – to discover the source of his discomfort. He somehow was fatalistically sure he needed to do it and still… One of the nuns glanced at him worriedly and was immediately swept by a commotion on the other side of the young crowd. 

Methos’ eyes slid from one head to the other, he didn’t know what he was looking for, though he was sure he would recognize him somehow. Pre-immortal Buzz sounded worried now and even a tad questioning as if he sensed Methos, unbelievable idea, but not that strange in the light of the whole day.

Somebody touched his hand and he turned round.

The eyes.

These unblinking dark deep serious eyes.

He knew these eyes from somewhere. From someone.

Methos felt himself drowning in them.

He didn’t know how much time had passed while he searched for the right words. The eyes blinked questioningly and he said the first name that came up on his mind that very minute: “Duncan?”

“How do you know my name?” The boy asked incredulously and then smiled, his Buzz hummed stronger and more confident with each passing moment. “I knew you would find me!”

This unguarded and joyful smile hit Methos like a freight train and he had to grab the nearest chair which thankfully was bolted to the floor.

“I knew you would find me! How did you do it? You are not my father, are you? How did you guess my name?”  
Methos rose his hand to stall the questions.

“No, I’m not. But I know your…”

“Connor McDonald!”, bellowed one of the nuns. The boy giggled and dragged Methos by his hand behind a nearest huge rubber plant pot. This was quite a flimsy shelter but it was enough. The older immortal looked inquisitively at the younger tribesman.

“As if I would give them my real name! You know my father?”

Methos studied the wide open eyes and a worried blush covered the boy’s cheeks. Young pre-immortal bit his lower lip waiting for the answer and Methos decided to be honest at least once in his life.

“Sorry, but you don’t have a father, as I do not have one and your relative as well, and as other people that are like me and you. I will tell you all about it later…” [ _I’d rather have Duncan tell you about it_ , he thought deep inside].

“But how do you know he is my relative then?”

“Oh, you would see it…” Methos looked behind the bush – the nun bellowed for the boy one more time then looked at her wristwatch and ushered the last of the children towards the door to the parking lot.

“The coast it clear”, he looked at the boy suspiciously. “It’s not the first time you’ve disappeared? She gave up too easily for my liking.”

“Nah, it’s sister O’Neil. She doesn’t like me, “devilish Scottish scum”, and yes, I gave a slip or two before”, the boy looked at him far too innocently and Methos laughed out loud [ _Oh, yes, he will be nice counterpart for Duncan and will help me to lighten up my Scot! Damn, what am I thinking! My Scot!_ , Methos snorted mentally and turned his attention back to their surroundings].

“Can you pretend I’m, like, your uncle?”

“Duh!” Mini-Duncan thrust his palm into Methos’ and impatiently pulled him forward.

~~~~  
Methos looked at his companion from the corner of his eye the whole way – while they rented a car at the airport, stopped by a mall to buy something to munch on, when he handed his phone to him to look at the map - the boy was very much alike his friend: eager to help, understanding and yet straight-out, energetic and collected, full of quiet humor, but didn’t like too personal of a joke; and yet he was like an improved version – easy to accept, more grey-scale than black-an-white… Methos very much looked forward to watching them together and to observing them interact.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost five in the evening, their meeting time for the last five years, not that Methos had ever kept it up. He stubbornly [ _he could out-stubborn bloody Scot on his best days_ ] refused to call him and confirm their meeting. He still believed in their deep inner connection [ _he won’t ever say that blasted word beginning with L…_ ] and wanted to believe that Duncan, his first Duncan, his favourite Duncan, didn’t give up on them yet…

He parked the car on a side street. Duncan-junior jumped up and down eager to meet his relative, to begin the rest of his life with the new understanding and new knowledge. He didn’t know yet what this new life would be, but Methos saw the anticipation in his wide-open eyes, gushing movements and a little uncertain glance the boy casted his way.

He gestured to go forward, and the little Scotsman ran to the corner of the street. 

There was a little secluded plaza with restaurants and small pricy boutiques. The weather was quite wintry for San-Francisco, little snowflakes danced amidst still brownish-green leaves of the tiny park in the middle of the plaza, the tables outside the restaurants were vacant except one. Tall dark imposing figure slouched a bit over the steaming cup of mulled wine. Wet ocean-scented wind played with the long strands of thick hear [ _he grew it again, bastard, he knew I won’t be able to resist it_ ].

The man shivered and then raised his head sharply.

He definitely sensed them both this very moment.

Methos stepped around the corner and put his hand on the shoulder of the mini-Duncan. He saw joy, confusion and disbelieve and joy again in these expressive features. The older Duncan never could hide his emotions from him.

Methos looked down and smiled: there was absolutely the same expression on the smaller face – joy and confusion and longing to find home he never knew.

Two dark-haired, broad-shouldered, tall and beautiful people watched each other from the other sides of the plaza in astonishment and then simultaneously looked at Methos.

It was such a strange feeling - as if someone suddenly shook a glass snowball, and everything around switched to the Christmas mode. The wind smelled of cinnamon and cocoa, a delicate festive tone came from a nearby store, a silver Christmas tree blinked among the old giant chestnuts in the plaza, and the snowflakes began to drift thicker and thicker, fencing them off from the rest of the world.

"Hey, Highlander, Merry Christmas to us!"


End file.
